Let me tell you a tale.
The tale begins in Arvada, CO. I was a wee lass of 7-8 and we were visiting my great aunt. During this visit there was a heavily publicized solar eclipse. I had heard about it on the news and latched onto one VERY important piece of information.
Perk up your ears everyone, this is important!!! During an eclipse do not look directly at the sun! They make little boxes and glasses if you feel the need to look at it during this time, but for the love of crackers do not look at the sun without such devices.
Now, as an adult, I know that this is not that big of a deal. An eclipse doesn't really last that long and the odds of accidentally looking directly at the sun and burning your retinas to a crisp is very very low. But, as a kid, this absolutely terrified me. I was not just afraid of looking at the sun, but also feared being in any sunlight before or after the eclipse. Who knows? Perhaps this light had magical blinding powers too!
Really, during times of threat it is better to be safe then sorry.
So I found out what time the eclipse was scheduled for and about 30 minutes before hand I camped out in a windowless bathroom with a bunch of toys. I also brought my 3 year old sister with me for her protection and my mom in for MY protection. If eyeballs were going to become a premium commodity after this debacle we were going to need an adult to defend us. At least a couple people in the family would have sight after all this was over. Apparently my dad and brother didn't care about their eyes as I could not convince them to join me.
As I was sitting in the bathroom I imagined all the poor fools who had not hid in their bathrooms were probably wandering around with no eyeballs. I wanted to peek outside and see what was going on, but I didn't want to risk there being any mutant blinding sunlight in the hallway. I didn't hear any screaming and panic, but maybe they were all in shock.
As it turned out, when we exited the bathroom about 15 minutes post eclipse there were no exploded eyeballs anywhere, nor any mutant sunshine.
However, I stayed in the basement away from windows til sundown just to be safe.
Telling you what you should do since 2010
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Monday, April 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
On Shireland and Crazytown
OMG!
If you ever lived in northern IL/ the northwestern suburbs and you remember Shireland you have to go look at this website.
Shireland was a kinda sorta amusement park. I remember visiting there in the late '80's. It was an odd place devoted to Shire horses. It was made out of a bunch of tents. One tent had, like, movies and stuff, a few tents had rides, and the big tent had a circus thing going on where the Shire horses put on a show.
Despite the fact that I didn't really like horses I remember really liking the place. So much so, that when my cat had kittens I named the biggest kitten of the litter Shirecat.
Anywho, the place did not last long, but you could still see some of the buildings from the highway until, according to the above website, a fire wiped out the remaining buildings.
The Super Bowl Ads featuring the Clydesdale Horses made me google Shire horses to see how different they were from Shires, which led to me googling Shireland.
Ho-ree Kwap.
Northern Illinois had its very own mini Howard Hughes in its midst!
Apparently the dude who owned and ran Shireland is an eccentric self made millionaire inventor. He is bat crap crazy and created Shireland to be (think Michael Jackson) his childhood playland since he apparently had a crappy upbringing.
He has been involved in a crap ton of lawsuits. He has a ghost town of empty houses and Shireland equipment/structures on his property.
The whole story seems kinda sad and sorrid and I feel sorry for the poor horses that it sounds like go caught in the middle of crazytown.
Shireland then:
Shireland now:
If you ever lived in northern IL/ the northwestern suburbs and you remember Shireland you have to go look at this website.
Shireland was a kinda sorta amusement park. I remember visiting there in the late '80's. It was an odd place devoted to Shire horses. It was made out of a bunch of tents. One tent had, like, movies and stuff, a few tents had rides, and the big tent had a circus thing going on where the Shire horses put on a show.
Despite the fact that I didn't really like horses I remember really liking the place. So much so, that when my cat had kittens I named the biggest kitten of the litter Shirecat.
Anywho, the place did not last long, but you could still see some of the buildings from the highway until, according to the above website, a fire wiped out the remaining buildings.
The Super Bowl Ads featuring the Clydesdale Horses made me google Shire horses to see how different they were from Shires, which led to me googling Shireland.
Ho-ree Kwap.
Northern Illinois had its very own mini Howard Hughes in its midst!
Apparently the dude who owned and ran Shireland is an eccentric self made millionaire inventor. He is bat crap crazy and created Shireland to be (think Michael Jackson) his childhood playland since he apparently had a crappy upbringing.
He has been involved in a crap ton of lawsuits. He has a ghost town of empty houses and Shireland equipment/structures on his property.
The whole story seems kinda sad and sorrid and I feel sorry for the poor horses that it sounds like go caught in the middle of crazytown.
Shireland then:
Shireland now:
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
On Letter Writing and a Fourth Grade Me
Recently a friend of mine was sent an anonymous mean letter.
It was nasty and immature, and really, showed more how crappy the person writing it was.
I should know because I am a recovered nasty letter writer.
I was not always the mature bastion of wisdom and benevolence I am today.
Hard to believe, I know.
In fourth grade I went on, what can only be described as, a nasty letter writing spree.
My first foray to the darkside of nasty letter writing was writing a horrid note to a friend when I was worried she was mad at me. This was probably the worst one I wrote. I am still embarrassed by it and sorry for it to this day. Luckily we got to be friends again.
My next trip down letter road involved me convincing half the girls in my class to write a mean note to a poor girl who was not well liked. We all got called out into the hallway by our teacher when she reported us and were told if we kept it up they would call our parents. That was enough to set me straight at school.
Finally (and perhaps the most funny) was a note I wrote to an older neighbor girl after she did something I didn't like. Ironically enough, my partner in crime in writing this letter was the friend who I wrote the first letter to.
One day my friend and I were playing in the front yard with my brother and a neighbor girl.
We were playing happily enough when who approached us but our friendly neighborhood thief/bad news bear/arsonist (he really was arrested and convicted of arson a few years after this).
We told him to go away, but he refused and continued to ride his bike back and forth in front of our house. He really was doing nothing but annoying us. No threats were made.
Neighbor girl's parents were not home, but she was being watched by her older sister. My mom, however, was home. In retrospect, the smart thing to do would have been to call my mom and have her tell this kid to go away.
Hindsight is always 20/20. Instead, our 4th grade minds thought it would be a good idea to scare him away with baseball bats.
So armed with our bats we chase Bad News Bear around our yard and the neighbors yard with baseball bats attempting to hit his tires. Lord of the flies I tell ya.
Eventually neighbor girl's bat made purchase with the tire and Bad News Bear skidded on his bike and skinned his knee.
At this point, neighbor girl's sister came out and yelled at us. I can't imagine why we would deserved such a scolding. Neighbor girl was made to come inside and our pre-bad news bear fun was ended.
Now, this should have ended here right?
Nope. Friend and I decided to express our anger at neighbor girl's sister at having our play date cut short. How could we do this?
We decided the best route was an anonymous nasty letter.
We went to work. We decided that while we wanted to use swear words, we were not sure if wanted to commit the full sin of actually spelling them out. So we used dashes to edit the swear words a bit. Therefore the letter was written it looked something like this:
Dear So-and-So,
You are ugly. We think you smell like sh-t. Dog cr-p smells better then you.
Love, Anonymous
Super mature and nice right? There could not possibly be repercussions for that letter. Who would ever trace it back to us?
We ding dong ditched the letter at their door and went about playing Barbies.
Later that day my friend looked out the window and saw a horrific sight. The mother of the girl we had written the letter to was marching over to my house! And she did not look happy.
Thinking fast, my friend and I decided to barricade ourselves in my mom's bathroom. We were not coming out without a fight! This did keep us from having to face the mad mother of the neighbor girl, but it did not help us from escaping my mom.
Our punishment was the cancellation of our sleepover.
And so ended my nasty letter writing campaign.
When sleepovers are at stake, it is just not worth it.
It was nasty and immature, and really, showed more how crappy the person writing it was.
I should know because I am a recovered nasty letter writer.
I was not always the mature bastion of wisdom and benevolence I am today.
Hard to believe, I know.
In fourth grade I went on, what can only be described as, a nasty letter writing spree.
My first foray to the darkside of nasty letter writing was writing a horrid note to a friend when I was worried she was mad at me. This was probably the worst one I wrote. I am still embarrassed by it and sorry for it to this day. Luckily we got to be friends again.
My next trip down letter road involved me convincing half the girls in my class to write a mean note to a poor girl who was not well liked. We all got called out into the hallway by our teacher when she reported us and were told if we kept it up they would call our parents. That was enough to set me straight at school.
Finally (and perhaps the most funny) was a note I wrote to an older neighbor girl after she did something I didn't like. Ironically enough, my partner in crime in writing this letter was the friend who I wrote the first letter to.
One day my friend and I were playing in the front yard with my brother and a neighbor girl.
We were playing happily enough when who approached us but our friendly neighborhood thief/bad news bear/arsonist (he really was arrested and convicted of arson a few years after this).
We told him to go away, but he refused and continued to ride his bike back and forth in front of our house. He really was doing nothing but annoying us. No threats were made.
Neighbor girl's parents were not home, but she was being watched by her older sister. My mom, however, was home. In retrospect, the smart thing to do would have been to call my mom and have her tell this kid to go away.
Hindsight is always 20/20. Instead, our 4th grade minds thought it would be a good idea to scare him away with baseball bats.
So armed with our bats we chase Bad News Bear around our yard and the neighbors yard with baseball bats attempting to hit his tires. Lord of the flies I tell ya.
Eventually neighbor girl's bat made purchase with the tire and Bad News Bear skidded on his bike and skinned his knee.
At this point, neighbor girl's sister came out and yelled at us. I can't imagine why we would deserved such a scolding. Neighbor girl was made to come inside and our pre-bad news bear fun was ended.
Now, this should have ended here right?
Nope. Friend and I decided to express our anger at neighbor girl's sister at having our play date cut short. How could we do this?
We decided the best route was an anonymous nasty letter.
We went to work. We decided that while we wanted to use swear words, we were not sure if wanted to commit the full sin of actually spelling them out. So we used dashes to edit the swear words a bit. Therefore the letter was written it looked something like this:
Dear So-and-So,
You are ugly. We think you smell like sh-t. Dog cr-p smells better then you.
Love, Anonymous
Super mature and nice right? There could not possibly be repercussions for that letter. Who would ever trace it back to us?
We ding dong ditched the letter at their door and went about playing Barbies.
Later that day my friend looked out the window and saw a horrific sight. The mother of the girl we had written the letter to was marching over to my house! And she did not look happy.
Thinking fast, my friend and I decided to barricade ourselves in my mom's bathroom. We were not coming out without a fight! This did keep us from having to face the mad mother of the neighbor girl, but it did not help us from escaping my mom.
Our punishment was the cancellation of our sleepover.
And so ended my nasty letter writing campaign.
When sleepovers are at stake, it is just not worth it.
Friday, January 7, 2011
On My Grandpa's Birthday and What Was Read at His Funeral
In honor of today being my grandpa's birthday, I decided to post the eulogy I wrote for him the night he died a year and a half ago. My aunt read it for me at his funeral.
Here it is:
Although it has been years since I have heard my grandpa sing, I can still clearly hear in my mind his strong, clear, resonating baritone voice. In fact, a good portion of my many memories of him are intertwined with the music he sang. I can picture him belting out “Jimmy Crack Corn” or the first few lines of “When the saints go marching in” as he made me ovaltine during one of my many sleepovers at my grandparents’ house.
I can hear him singing “The Man on the Flying Trapeze” or “This Little light of mine” in the car on the way home from the YWCA where he took my brother and sister and I swimming every Friday for much of our childhood.
If I try, I can hear him sing God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen as he cooked bacon and pancakes in a small condo kitchen during our yearly Christmas vacations to South Padre Island.
When he didn’t know or want to sing the right words he would sub in “do do do’s” sang with such earnestness that it almost seemed like they could truly be the correct lyrics.
He was also known to sub in his own lyrics from time to time. He had his own special version of Jesus Loved the Little Children which paid tribute to the red, and yellow, pink, and green among us. His made up songs were never bawdy, just silly and witty. A gift in and of itself, the talent for being funny and witty without being biting or unkind.
This brings me to perhaps the most outstanding quality my grandpa possessed. He was genuinely kind and giving. Probably the kindest person I have known. He helped people not to make himself look better, or to gain favor in anyone’s eyes, but simply because it was the right thing to do. He demonstrated charity by being cheerfully, quietly, charitable. This charitableness was no doubt directly related to his faith. He had an unshakable belief in God that was peacefully moving and he shared his Christianity with the world through his actions.
It seems hard and somehow kind of impossible to pay tribute to such a great man with a few short words. Especially being that he was much more a man of action then a man of words. I think, maybe, the best homage I could pay him would be to try to pass on his gift of quiet charity and kindness to my children.
I want to end this tribute with a little exercise, if everyone here would humor me. If you can, picture my grandpa’s singing voice in your head. Now I want you to picture him singing these words to one of his favorite old stand-bys. I never knew if the “do do’s” he inserted in this song were there because he never knew the lyrics or because he just plain liked “do’s” better. It’s funny, but I don’t think I have ever heard the “right” words. It was always one of my favorites to hear him sing, and I sometimes find myself singing his version as I do dishes or play with my children.
“Come and sit by my side little darlin’,
Do, do, do, do, do, do, and sweet smiles.
Oh remember the Red River valley.
Up in heaven when life’s race is done.”
Here it is:
Although it has been years since I have heard my grandpa sing, I can still clearly hear in my mind his strong, clear, resonating baritone voice. In fact, a good portion of my many memories of him are intertwined with the music he sang. I can picture him belting out “Jimmy Crack Corn” or the first few lines of “When the saints go marching in” as he made me ovaltine during one of my many sleepovers at my grandparents’ house.
I can hear him singing “The Man on the Flying Trapeze” or “This Little light of mine” in the car on the way home from the YWCA where he took my brother and sister and I swimming every Friday for much of our childhood.
If I try, I can hear him sing God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen as he cooked bacon and pancakes in a small condo kitchen during our yearly Christmas vacations to South Padre Island.
When he didn’t know or want to sing the right words he would sub in “do do do’s” sang with such earnestness that it almost seemed like they could truly be the correct lyrics.
He was also known to sub in his own lyrics from time to time. He had his own special version of Jesus Loved the Little Children which paid tribute to the red, and yellow, pink, and green among us. His made up songs were never bawdy, just silly and witty. A gift in and of itself, the talent for being funny and witty without being biting or unkind.
This brings me to perhaps the most outstanding quality my grandpa possessed. He was genuinely kind and giving. Probably the kindest person I have known. He helped people not to make himself look better, or to gain favor in anyone’s eyes, but simply because it was the right thing to do. He demonstrated charity by being cheerfully, quietly, charitable. This charitableness was no doubt directly related to his faith. He had an unshakable belief in God that was peacefully moving and he shared his Christianity with the world through his actions.
It seems hard and somehow kind of impossible to pay tribute to such a great man with a few short words. Especially being that he was much more a man of action then a man of words. I think, maybe, the best homage I could pay him would be to try to pass on his gift of quiet charity and kindness to my children.
I want to end this tribute with a little exercise, if everyone here would humor me. If you can, picture my grandpa’s singing voice in your head. Now I want you to picture him singing these words to one of his favorite old stand-bys. I never knew if the “do do’s” he inserted in this song were there because he never knew the lyrics or because he just plain liked “do’s” better. It’s funny, but I don’t think I have ever heard the “right” words. It was always one of my favorites to hear him sing, and I sometimes find myself singing his version as I do dishes or play with my children.
“Come and sit by my side little darlin’,
Do, do, do, do, do, do, and sweet smiles.
Oh remember the Red River valley.
Up in heaven when life’s race is done.”
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
On Grudges and Filing Systems
I can hold a grudge for a loooong time.
It doesn't really take tons of effort. It is not like I think about grudges constantly, but if a perceived wrong has been done to me my brain has an automatic filing system in place to keep track of it.
The filing system does occasionally get culled and if a grudge gets settled the file gets moved to another part of my brain.
For example, in 4th grade I cut my leg open to the tendon. I was the proud owner of over 100 stitches to close it up. After it had healed enough for me to return to get around with crutches I had to bring a pillow with me everywhere I went because I needed to keep my leg elevated.
I brought said pillow to a 4H meeting. As I hobbled to my chair I overheard an older girl (5th grader!!!) whispering and laughing to another older girl about my pillow.
I still don't really like either of those girls. For no other reason then that incident.
I am sure if I had gotten to know them past 5th grade I would have found them to be lovely people and I am sure they are currently leading lovely lives. I very occasionally will hear something about one of them as they are the children of distant friends of my grandmothers. And those rare times I hear something about them I think of the above grudge file and mentally scowl.
Other random people who have earned a file in my mind?
- the random T.A. in college who knocked my grade down because she didn't like that I let my Model UN partner do all our work because he wanted to date me. We won a fake diplomacy award and I only got a B!
- Any one who was inconsiderate about my daughter's life threatening allergy. There is like 5 or 6 people in this file.
- A random women in England who tried to pick a fake tattoo off my shoulder while we were in line for drinks at a bar.
- A person 10 years ago who told me my nose was perfect, but probably too small for my face.
The nice thing about having this memory, is that I remember the nice things people do and say to me too. But that is all in a separate filing system.
You might be wondering if I have a file about you.
The answer is, of course, no.
I like you.
It doesn't really take tons of effort. It is not like I think about grudges constantly, but if a perceived wrong has been done to me my brain has an automatic filing system in place to keep track of it.
The filing system does occasionally get culled and if a grudge gets settled the file gets moved to another part of my brain.
For example, in 4th grade I cut my leg open to the tendon. I was the proud owner of over 100 stitches to close it up. After it had healed enough for me to return to get around with crutches I had to bring a pillow with me everywhere I went because I needed to keep my leg elevated.
I brought said pillow to a 4H meeting. As I hobbled to my chair I overheard an older girl (5th grader!!!) whispering and laughing to another older girl about my pillow.
I still don't really like either of those girls. For no other reason then that incident.
I am sure if I had gotten to know them past 5th grade I would have found them to be lovely people and I am sure they are currently leading lovely lives. I very occasionally will hear something about one of them as they are the children of distant friends of my grandmothers. And those rare times I hear something about them I think of the above grudge file and mentally scowl.
Other random people who have earned a file in my mind?
- the random T.A. in college who knocked my grade down because she didn't like that I let my Model UN partner do all our work because he wanted to date me. We won a fake diplomacy award and I only got a B!
- Any one who was inconsiderate about my daughter's life threatening allergy. There is like 5 or 6 people in this file.
- A random women in England who tried to pick a fake tattoo off my shoulder while we were in line for drinks at a bar.
- A person 10 years ago who told me my nose was perfect, but probably too small for my face.
The nice thing about having this memory, is that I remember the nice things people do and say to me too. But that is all in a separate filing system.
You might be wondering if I have a file about you.
The answer is, of course, no.
I like you.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
On Whiz Kids and the Cream of the Northern Illinois Crop
Song Prompt Wednesday!
My how time flies.
Here is our Mr. Folds quote of the day:
"You get smaller while the world gets big
The more you know you know you don't know shit
The whiz man'll never fit you like the whiz kid did."- Ben Folds, Bastard.
I went to school with a lot of over achievers. We were told how smart we were a lot. We got a nice label. We were all "Gifted".
I was always in the middle of the intellectual pack. A solid gifted B. :P I had to work a decent amount for the some of the B's. But there were always those that shined. The gifted of the gifted. Many were pretty normal and down to earth, but there was a certain percentage that lived for their label. Whiz kids. They knew everything at 15. Never really used to working for much.
I wonder what happened to a few of them. If they grew up and realized that being of the cream of the northern Illinois crop really wasn't as big of a deal in the long run as it seemed at the time. I wonder if they were ever just the middle of the pack at their Ivy League schools. I wonder what that would have felt like for them.
Most probably have matured and outgrown their labels, but I imagine there are a few "gifted" whiz men and women running around annoying people.
Bastard:
My how time flies.
Here is our Mr. Folds quote of the day:
"You get smaller while the world gets big
The more you know you know you don't know shit
The whiz man'll never fit you like the whiz kid did."- Ben Folds, Bastard.
I went to school with a lot of over achievers. We were told how smart we were a lot. We got a nice label. We were all "Gifted".
I was always in the middle of the intellectual pack. A solid gifted B. :P I had to work a decent amount for the some of the B's. But there were always those that shined. The gifted of the gifted. Many were pretty normal and down to earth, but there was a certain percentage that lived for their label. Whiz kids. They knew everything at 15. Never really used to working for much.
I wonder what happened to a few of them. If they grew up and realized that being of the cream of the northern Illinois crop really wasn't as big of a deal in the long run as it seemed at the time. I wonder if they were ever just the middle of the pack at their Ivy League schools. I wonder what that would have felt like for them.
Most probably have matured and outgrown their labels, but I imagine there are a few "gifted" whiz men and women running around annoying people.
Bastard:
Monday, November 29, 2010
On Queen Bees and Wannabees
I have been meaning to read a ton of books.
I probably wont.
When I do read I usually read garbage. Nice, fun, fluffy garbage.
One book I have been meaning to read, especially since I have a girl child, is Queen Bees and Wannabees. I checked it out from the library a couple years ago but only got around to glossing over it. I have been reading through reviews and summaries this morning, contemplating an Amazon buy.
It is a really interesting premise. Bascially, the author labels girls into different categories and gives advice to parents as to how to deal with each category and with various situations that typically arise.
I think the most interesting thing about the categories is how little women seem to change as they get older. In any playgroup or work setting I can pick out the Queen, the Sidekick, the Banker, ect, ect. I can also pick out which role I have played in various groups over my life. (Which interestingly is not the same role over the years.) It makes sense, really, that the social structure that we fall into at a formative age follows us around throughout our lives. Shoot, I bet it follows us to the nursing home.
While researching the book I found this little quiz.
Go ahead and take it. Girls like quizzes. YM conditioned us to love them in 7th grade.
I probably wont.
When I do read I usually read garbage. Nice, fun, fluffy garbage.
One book I have been meaning to read, especially since I have a girl child, is Queen Bees and Wannabees. I checked it out from the library a couple years ago but only got around to glossing over it. I have been reading through reviews and summaries this morning, contemplating an Amazon buy.
It is a really interesting premise. Bascially, the author labels girls into different categories and gives advice to parents as to how to deal with each category and with various situations that typically arise.
I think the most interesting thing about the categories is how little women seem to change as they get older. In any playgroup or work setting I can pick out the Queen, the Sidekick, the Banker, ect, ect. I can also pick out which role I have played in various groups over my life. (Which interestingly is not the same role over the years.) It makes sense, really, that the social structure that we fall into at a formative age follows us around throughout our lives. Shoot, I bet it follows us to the nursing home.
While researching the book I found this little quiz.
Go ahead and take it. Girls like quizzes. YM conditioned us to love them in 7th grade.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
On Aliens and Unsolved Mysteries
I was once almost abducted by aliens.
It all started one evening when I was 9 or 10 years old. I think it was a Wednesday. I know for sure it was the night that Unsolved Mysteries was on. Man, I used to love that show. I was so sad when Robert Stack died. At ten I didn’t really hone in on the cheesiness of the reenactments, instead I felt like that show was letting me in on super secrets of the universe.
Aliens exist!
Ghosts walk down Chicago streets!
Missing people are frequently reunited with their families 20 years after going missing!
It was good stuff I tell ya. Good stuff.
So anyways, it was a night after I had just finished watching an Unsolved Mysteries which had featured an alien abduction. I went to bed, like normal, in my room which faced a quiet residential street.
Around 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a bright strobing light flashing through both windows. I froze. This was it. I was being abducted by aliens. I don’t mind telling you I was scared beyond reason. I prayed wildly what ever experiments they were going to perform were going to be painless. I thought about calling out for my mom or dad, but I didn’t want to alert the aliens to my existence. Perhaps it was only my neighbors they wanted.
My plan was to lie stock still. For about 5 minutes it appeared to work. No extraterrestrial beings were ghosting into my room. So I got brave. I was going to get a peek at the U.F.O.
Now I was kind of excited. I was totally going to write into Unsolved Mysteries with my story. I quietly crept out of bed and over to the window. I pressed myself against the wall peeked around the window and cracked the blinds with my little hands. I fully expected to see a magnificent flying vessel parked in my front yard.
What I saw? Was emergency vehicles parked in front of my neighbors house.
Unsolved Mysteries was not interested in my story. ☹
It all started one evening when I was 9 or 10 years old. I think it was a Wednesday. I know for sure it was the night that Unsolved Mysteries was on. Man, I used to love that show. I was so sad when Robert Stack died. At ten I didn’t really hone in on the cheesiness of the reenactments, instead I felt like that show was letting me in on super secrets of the universe.
Aliens exist!
Ghosts walk down Chicago streets!
Missing people are frequently reunited with their families 20 years after going missing!
It was good stuff I tell ya. Good stuff.
So anyways, it was a night after I had just finished watching an Unsolved Mysteries which had featured an alien abduction. I went to bed, like normal, in my room which faced a quiet residential street.
Around 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a bright strobing light flashing through both windows. I froze. This was it. I was being abducted by aliens. I don’t mind telling you I was scared beyond reason. I prayed wildly what ever experiments they were going to perform were going to be painless. I thought about calling out for my mom or dad, but I didn’t want to alert the aliens to my existence. Perhaps it was only my neighbors they wanted.
My plan was to lie stock still. For about 5 minutes it appeared to work. No extraterrestrial beings were ghosting into my room. So I got brave. I was going to get a peek at the U.F.O.
Now I was kind of excited. I was totally going to write into Unsolved Mysteries with my story. I quietly crept out of bed and over to the window. I pressed myself against the wall peeked around the window and cracked the blinds with my little hands. I fully expected to see a magnificent flying vessel parked in my front yard.
What I saw? Was emergency vehicles parked in front of my neighbors house.
Unsolved Mysteries was not interested in my story. ☹
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